Life is filled with choices, but some choices can affect your life much more than others. I’ll admit, many of the choices I’ve made in my fourteen years haven’t affected me much. Coming to Fenn wasn’t a choice, it was the logical decision and besides that, whether I have ham or turkey for lunch doesn’t really affect me, but as my years at Fenn come to a close, the opportunity to make a choice could present itself very soon. As I draw closer to my next school, It becomes evermore apparent that in three days, I will know if I’ll follow in my sisters footsteps and get the education that my parents want for me or go to public school. That begs the question though, do I want to go to these schools (assuming that they be so kind as to accept me) and risk deciding, after paying tuition that the school isn’t right for me. Has the months of waiting, anxiously pouring over essays, details papers on my experience with beekeeping and how my dad is an amazing role model for me, been worth the possibility to get into a school that could possibly be the worse thing I’ve ever done for my career. Will I leave the people that I love and that have supported me and find others, or will I be alone during a vulnerable period of my life. Through the months, the sleepless nights and through these final days, I will continue working hard; moreover, I will keep a positive attitude; finally, when the time comes to make my decision I will make it with confidence. For me, decisions can often be daunting, but in times like these it helped me to remember, it’s not the decision that matters, it’s what you make of it.

There is no better way of getting closer to God, of rising higher towards the spirit, of attaining spiritual perfection, than music -- Inyat Khan

From the very beginning of time music has been a powerful tool. To tell the story of music in my life, we have to go all the way back to when I was born. Growing up, I was surrounded by music. My dad was a fanatic, constantly playing his favorite tunes, and my mom encouraged me and my sisters to start playing instruments from a young age. I picked up the piano early, and while I didn’t stick with it long, it helped propel me to the point in my music career I'm at today. When I started attending Fenn, I was given the option to play an instrument in the school band, so I (whilst having no idea what I was getting into) picked the instrument that had been in my mind for a while. It was flashy, loud, noticeable, and I loved it. Even though I didn’t take it as seriously as I could have I loved playing it. Fast-forward to today and the trumpet has become a central part of my life. Walking into the small room at Rivers every Saturday to play in my jazz group has become a central part of my life and with every rehearsal it brings more opportunities. Playing the trumpet makes me feel liberated. I don’t have to worry about school, or social norms, just if I can pull of this high G to help make my solo better. Whatever I’m doing, whether it’s listening to music or playing any of my wide range of instruments at home, from guitar to melodica to ukulele to cornet I can relax and enjoy myself and the music. It’s a way I can be free with my thoughts and express my emotions without having to try and stumble over words. Music has helped shape me in a way I believe nothing else could, so I encourage other to look for opportunities in music too.

If I’m being honest, I didn’t think too much about why I chose this piece. I heard that I needed to choose a piece so I went onto Fitz’s website and searched around for a bit till I found this. It seemed to be a good length and it told a pretty interesting story. It also helped that it was set in the WW1 era because in justice without borders (bootleg history class) were learning about WW1 and the holocaust, so it sparked my interest. As I read it more and more though, it struck a chord with me, and its haunting language, and horrifying depiction of war enthralled me.

Walkin’ in a winter wonderland plays over my kitchens stereo system and I hate it. It’s a late Sunday morning, and the weather outside is biting. I always ask myself, “Why do New Englanders, of all people, romanticize winter”. We know better than anyone else how bad the weather can get, but year after year we praise the beauty of snow and then proceed to regret ever existing, holed up in our homes, trying to forget life itself. Maybe I’m biased. I know there can be some good side to snow, but when I’m trying to walk my dog, and the windchill is dropping the temp below zero, I’m not buying into the magic of winter. The one good in all the evil of snow lies in a very expected place. One that I would call my third favorite place in my whole house behind my bed and my computer. The candy cabinet, meaning that of course the redeeming quality of winter is the hot chocolate that follows. The sweet sugary taste, the warmth spreading through your body after being outside in the harsh weather. A good hot chocolate can warm any mans heart, and that’s why I keep a stash ready, especially at this time of year. It may not be a trip away from the cause of the cold, but it’s a pretty damn good alternative. So if anyone’s feeling the winter blues, stop by me, and I’ll hook you up with some of that sweet chocolate cure.

As a growing teenager, in a school full of moody boys, I know a thing or two about pride. Through my knowledge of pride though, The Iliad by Homer has somehow managed to show me its application through time and in the world. I started reading this book because of my own pride. I wanted to prove to myself that I could read this book and enjoy it, but The Iliad’s use of pride, on and off the battlefield have helped to show me how dangerous pride can be. The character who I feel most exemplifies this pride to me is Achilles. In the long fight against the Trojans, moral is running low among the Achaeans. They have been pushed back against their ships and as I read each line of Achaean sacrifice and hard fought battle I could hardly think of anything else. And then the story turned to Achilles, the one person who could save everyone, who was sitting on the sidelines eating grapes because of his pride. When I started this book I never expected to read about anything other than constant battle; I didn’t expect to understand the faults of the characters; but most of all I didn’t expect to learn a lesson from them. I said last week that reading The Iliad was like doing a chore, and that you needed to take it as your responsibility, and nearing the end of the book, I wouldn’t disagree. If there would be one thing I could add though, it would be that these chores should also be a lesson, and you shouldn’t do it mindlessly. You should take pride in your work, and make sure you can grow and learn from it.

Whew. School essays. For those of you who are currently going through them like me, you know what I’m talking about. That feeling of your brain slowly turning sour as you sit and write for hours on end. Before I started I was skeptical of that statement, “you’ll be writing for a couple hours per day”. I was thinking “How could I work for several hours everyday, and not finish within the week?” To be honest I’m still asking myself that question now. It’s like midterms. Except it’s over the course of around a month and you can’t make up bad work with your next test and your writing could shape your future and what it holds and your parlantes are sitting behind you the entire time criticizing you. To be short, it sucks, but to be honest, I still think it’s good for me. It’s my “healthy” dose of panic for the year. It’s my driving force that gets me up in the morning. It’s that voice in the back of my head saying “if you don’t do well on this essay than you won’t be successful in life” which maybe isn’t a completely healthy way of going about things but it gets me moving. It has forced me to look at my writing through someone else’s eyes and think about just how bad it is, and then make it better. And sure, maybe I won’t ever have to write about “why I’m diverse” ever again in my life but at the same time I can now tell you why I think I am. These essays are a mixed bag. Like most things in life, you can take them with stride, and learn a lesson from them, despite it being a less than ideal situation, or you can moan and groan and not work your hardest and learn nothing. So as we continue moving forward through the year. Whether applying out or not, I invite everyone who reads this to learn from bad situations, and grow stronger through the pain.

Reading the Iliad, in my experience, is like taking care of a dog. Everyone talks about great dogs are, and you always have wanted to own a dog. Once you get the dog though, you realize that you can’t just own a dog and be happy. You have to take care of it, feed it, let it outside, exercise it. Reading The Iliad has been a lot like that. Don’t get me wrong. I love dogs, and I would do anything for mine, but much like The Iliad, if you want to enjoy either of them, you must treat them as your responsibility. Although I know a book isn’t a dog, while reading The Iliad I still felt it required similar attention. I had to think about what I was reading and not just absorb it mindlessly. Once you get into the state of focus that you need to be in to truly read this book nothing can stop you. As the Gods of Olympus watched down at the battle at Troy, I could feel myself watching alongside them. I could feel the pain of every soldier as they fell, leaving behind their wives, children and their nation. It was hard for me to not to feel these emotions once I got into the book, and I feel that anyone else who really took the time to read the Iliad could too. So invite anyone reading this to take time when they can. Get into some comfy clothes when you have the time. Sit down by a fire, or get in your bed. Take a minute to clear your head and don’t just read. Experience. Place yourself in the heads of the characters. Fight on the fields. Push back the Trojans from your ships. Attack a goddess if you want. Whatever you do, immerse yourself in a way that you aren’t just reading The Iliad you are experiencing it.

You don't choose your family. they are Gods gift to you as you are to them.

Desmond Tutu

Christmas has always been a time for family. In my house, getting together with family has been a long-standing tradition. From aunts and uncles to grandmothers and grandfathers, we always make sure to celebrate the holiday with family in any way we can. In the snowy, winter days before Christmas my family can be found scattered around the house. My grandmother can be found by the fire, knitting and lecturing us about how privileged we are. Me and my dad, outside chopping wood, sometimes accompanied by my twin sister, Julia. My older sister will be inside playing with our dog, Lulu and our mom will be shoveling the walkways and complaining about the snow. The entire family, all doing different things, but still working together. Despite being different in what we do and who we are, we all still come together during Christmas. We celebrate the power of family, because that’s what Christmas should stand for, being able to come together with the ones you love the most and celebrate. Without this family aspect, Christmas is irrelevant. To have no one to share food with, or wrap presents for Christmas loses its true meaning. The spirit of Christmas can take many different forms for different people, but because of this celebration of love and life, for me, family takes the cake.

That which inspires arrogance is ignorance, caused by the heart's blindness.

Saeed Malik

Arrogance can be a very dangerous thing. To Build a Fire by Jack London showed me just how dangerous it can be. Although in a very different setting from what I’m used to, To Build a fire taught me how much arrogance can cost someone, however small it might seem in the moment. It also taught me how arrogance can be applied to my life. I started reading To build a Fire expecting a small story about a man who struggles but eventually prevails in building a fire (which was an act of arrogance in itself). What I got was a gripping tale of struggle and danger. As the story went on, and the plot kept getting deeper and deeper, each turn leading in a different direction, I kept having to remind myself of what the book was telling me “don’t believe that you know everything”. Reading this with the class was a blessing disguised as a chore because although it took longer, I felt I could better understand the themes of ignorance and how they could relate to me even in a small way. As the class kept talking arrogantly, we ended up staying longer. It was a simple yet effective way of reminding me not to be the ignorant protagonist in the story, believing his own foolish instincts instead of letting the older, wiser leaders surrounding him tell him what to do. A week ago, I might have told you that ignorance is bliss, and that you’re lucky to have it, but now, after reading To Build a Fire I would definitely tell you otherwise.